It happened sooner than I expected. Actually, it kind of snuck up on me. But sometime around 3:00 last night, the first draft of Voice of a Silent Fugitive was finally completed. I suppose I should be overjoyed, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so emotionally torn at the end of writing a book. I had to go so deep inside the Fugitive’s head in order to write his story, and get so profoundly familiar with the most central and intricate parts of his soul, that finishing his tale actually left me grieving as if someone had died. As I got near the end of the book, I found myself hesitating, procrastinating, reluctant to write the final scene. It’s a good thing I can type by feel, because I cried. Like a baby.

A hungry, angry baby.

Normally after I finish writing a book, one of the main things on my mind is, “Was it good enough? Is it the best it can be? Will my readers like it?”

Today, I just couldn’t quite bring myself to worry about that. I will later, when the editing process begins. But for last night and today, it’s the characters that really haunt my mind.

​I’m going to miss them – the Beachwalker with whom I identified so much at the time when I was writing her, and the Fugitive whose mind I wove with such intimate care.

I suppose I’ll see them again, for a while, when I return to tidy up the book. For now, I need to take a step back, stretch my legs in another story world for a week or two, and let time provide the distance and objectivity I’ll need to polish the novel to a shine.

I really look forward to sharing this story with you. I just hope I can edit it without crying.